Cid Highwind and the Washing Machine
by A Scary Man
Summary: Cid hates doing the laundry on board the Highwind - but wait - what the & is THAT?


It was one week after the defeat of Sephiroth, and just another regular day in the lives of the Avalanche. The party, who'd been ready to disband and go their separate ways, found themselves still grouped together, due to the simple fact that nobody could agree on how to divide up the various Materia, items and other plunder that they'd picked up on their journey. The eight of them were still cruising around in the Highwind, locked in daily arguments over who had discovered which items, who had been equipped with which Materia the longest, whose brilliant idea it had been to do such and such, and…well, you get the picture. Basically, they were getting nowhere fast.

Cid Highwind was already in a foul mood when he entered the Highwind's kitchen area. The washing-up from last night's meal _still_ hadn't been done. Cid fingered a couple of dirty plates and scowled. They would begin to grow mould if they weren't washed soon. Whose turn had it been to wash the dishes? He knew it hadn't been his. With a self-righteous smirk, Cid walked across the kitchen, almost tripping over the empty, upside-down laundry basket. On the wall beside the door, the eternally efficient and organised Tifa had pinned up a comprehensive set of schedules that determined whose turn it was to do what each day. Cid consulted them.

 "Ha! Yuffie! I thought so!" he exclaimed.

That damn lazy ninja kid! She never did her share of the work, always relying on the others to cover up for her mistakes and her sloth. Why they put up with it, Cid had no idea. He cursed Yuffie and her laziness, and was about to turn away and leave the room, when something else caught his eye. He looked again at the chart in the hope that he'd been mistaken the first time. He hadn't.

 "F&%K!!!!" he yelled, picking up the laundry basket and stomping off angrily towards the Highwind's cargo bay, throwing his cigarette on to the floor and grinding his heel into the smoking stub.

On the way he met Yuffie. The sixteen year-old was rummaging through one of the crates in the cargo bay, and she looked up guiltily when Cid entered.

 "Hey! Get out of there! What are you stealing now?"

 "N-nothing! Just looking for my – um – my – hey, it's your turn to do the laundry, huh?" she giggled, pointing to the basket under Cid's arm.

 "Huh. I see you didn't do _your share of the work last night!"_

 "I don't know what you're talking about, Cid!" Yuffie declared with the carefree irresponsibility of youth, as she danced out of the room past him.

 "Damn kid," he muttered under his breath, dumping the empty basket beside the washing machine, and stomping over to the hamper that held the dirty laundry.

Dragging the hamper over towards the washing machine and opening both, he cursed and swore to his heart's content as he manhandled the contents of the former into the latter. When the machine was full, he tipped in some detergent and hit the button to begin the washing cycle. Now there was nothing to do but wait until the machine was finished. Muttering bad-temperedly about Yuffie, the washing, and the crapness of life in general, Cid sat down in front the machine, watching the clothes inside spin endlessly round and round. To relieve the boredom, he tried to guess who each item of clothing belonged to.

 "Well, the red cape is Vincent's spare one. The boxer shorts with the pink love-hearts must be Barret's, because they're too big for Cloud and they sure as hell ain't mine! Heh, it's a good thing Cait Sith and Red XIII don't need to wear clothes – the machine's full enough to burst as it is."

His body drooped further and further forward in sheer boredom as he watched the clothes spinning around inside the washing machine. The cream shirt was his. The black G-string was Tifa's. The little white knickers were Yuffie's…

 "Man, I could watch that G-string go around all day," said Cid, then his eye caught something else. "Hey, wait a minute – WHAT THE F&%K IS THAT?!?!"

He yanked open the washing machine's door, ignoring the hot, soapy water that gushed out around his feet. Raking through the pile of wet, partially-washed clothes, he removed the offending item and stormed up on deck. The others were sitting out in the sunshine, either talking, reading or sun-bathing.

 "All right!" Cid demanded. "Who the F&%K does this belong to?"

The other seven members of the party turned curious glances in his direction. The sight of the furious middle-aged man holding aloft a bright yellow pair of 19th century lady's bloomers was too much for Yuffie, who began shrieking with laughter.

 "Well, don't look at _me," Tifa said indignantly. "I wouldn't be caught dead in something like that."_

Cid turned an enraged look on Cloud, "What the F&%K were you thinking?"

 "Hey!" Cloud spluttered defensively. "Why are you assuming it's _me_?"

 "Well, given your past history…"

 "What do you mean, my past history?!" Cloud yelled. "I dressed up as a woman _once_, got that? Once! I had to do it to save Tifa! And it was Aeris' idea anyway!"

 "Ha," said Yuffie. "I've seen women's clothes in your room before!"

 "Yeah, Tifa's," said Cloud. "And why the hell were you in my room?"

Yuffie blushed with guilt, realising she'd given herself away, and hastily invented, "Um – I was looking for my – um – anyway, at least I don't wear lady's bloomers!"

 "They're not mine!" Cloud screeched in desperation.


End file.
